Ad Astra
by Hail Ephiny
Summary: Elizabeth is lost in a cosmos of isolation. David is her only solace. Something has gone horribly wrong. [DavidXElizabeth] RATED FOR LEMONS
1. 1 : Life

**A/N :**

 _"It had the strength of a man, but the sensual touch of a woman. With its entire processing power harnessed to give pleasure beyond human measure. In its capriciousness it did not appear neutral._  
 _This robot had read its Kama Sutra."_ \- Studio Killers

* * *

On the third day Dr Elizabeth Shaw had plucked up enough courage to venture back into the navigational room. The ship was still grounded, the only capable pilot slumped lifelessly against a wall. His headless body was a milky mess of wires and hydraulic fluid, said missing appendage dumped carelessly on the bizarre console, still encased in the duffle bag she once carried him inside.

It had taken Dr Elizabeth Shaw three additional days to mend him, all the while existing on the meager rations she had taken from Meredith Vickers's life raft and barely any sleep. It was agony, leaning over David's lifeless corpse of a body splayed like a cadaver, soldering minute wires back together, while the staples that held her own stomach together felt as though they were tearing apart. She was sure her suit, which she dare not remove, was the only thing keeping her together as one.

She wasn't an engineer, had no idea how to mend such a complex construct as a David 8 synthetic, but in the end was proud of her accomplishment. David did seem genuinely appreciative, considering he had to coach her through each step. He didn't tempt fate by questioning her motive once she had finished on why she wanted to find her creators, nor why she trusted David to help her.

He supposed he already knew what her reasoning would be.

Faith.

David and Elizabeth switched roles and she once again became his patient, although this time willingly. He did have every intention of keeping his promise to her, truly, but she involuntarily flinched away from his hands when he unzipped her bloodstained suit, exposing her flesh to the cold chill of the room.

"The staples have torn. I can't imagine the pain you must be in."

"No. I suppose you couldn't."

He offered her a rag to bite into while he removed the offending patch-up job the miscalibrated med-pod had done. Goodness knows what else it had cut into, severed. She supposed she was lucky she hadn't yet bled out. The tone of David's voice seemed so sincere and genuine that she had to close her eyes to hold back a spill of tears.

The Engineers' vessel was a Titan of proportion, that was sure. It was huge - the vastness of its seemingly unending corridors, but also all the equipment therein.  
They slept together, side by side in one of the bedded alcoves. David slept, not because androids need sleep, but because Elizabeth requested him to do so. She feared being alone, shrinking into herself like a small child, afraid of the darkness and the hollow emptiness aboard.

"David, do you get bored? Waiting for me to wake up?" She had asked him once before drifting off. He had turned, not expecting her question but answering it as efficiently as he could.  
"Of course not, Elizabeth. I run through numerous statistical problems in my mind. This gives me a chance to 'focus' without distraction." He paused then, grinning slyly as if sharing an inside joke. "Why do you ask?"  
She had grinned back, tired and drowsy, eyes heavy-lidded and sore.  
"Pillow talk, I suppose."

After a moment of silence, David continued.

"Is it comforting?"  
"Somewhat."  
"Elaborate, please."  
"I can hear you breathing. I can feel your warmth. If I close my eyes I can almost imagine you're real."

David pondered on that thought for a long time.


	2. 2 : Curiosity

A/N :

I have no idea where I'm going with this story but I hate AC. Well, no so much hate but just...didn't care about it. I was bored. I spent a good chunk of the movie thinking Daniels was a boy.

* * *

He wasn't real. A crude notion that plucked a cord deep within him, even now, ions away from anything remotely sentient. But he wasn't like the other David 8 models either. Peter Weyland had made him to the side, out of the way of the mainstream production line. He had breathed a certain life into him that only he possessed. He was unique. Inimitable. A perfect machine that was capable of flaw.

And he was curious of this new found ability to fail, to ignore the three laws that governed his kind. Before the tragic Prometheus expedition he had always prided himself with his model's corporate mantra, not fully aware he alone was able to forego it. He knew Weyland had made him exclusively for himself, matchless amongst a sea of identical faces, but he never entirely knew why.

 _Surpassing human expectation, flawlessly and effortlessly._

That was what he was supposed to follow, what his artificial brothers followed without exception. He wondered deep down why his father had omitted such a key subroutine, taken such impetuous liberties with his supposed son's programming. Why was he able to harm? Why had he been able to kill? Why was he so entranced with it all?

"I will need to see your abdomen." He had announced as they plotted way points at the start of the second week. Elizabeth, who had been absentmindedly wiggling her fingers through the blue hologram particles of the console, gave him a hesitant look.

"Infection can be deadly, Elizabeth, unless caught early." His expression was all replicated concern and focus. She could almost mistake him for human, if not for the twinkling scar encompassing his neck.

Now alone in the solitude of space, she felt very nervous in his presence. Something in the back of her mind kept intermittently springing forth, crying out for her not to forget Charlie and the others, warning her against getting too comfortable with the ghost that haunted this broken machine. She believed he was malfunctioning, although unknown to what extent, but it was evident in the deeds he had done. Weyland had created a madman in his desperate pursuit to live, only to die pointlessly at the cusp and abandon his disgrace of a synthetic replacement without direction. But disgrace and madman aside, he was the only one who knew how to pilot their vessel. She was going to have to play nice.

"Tomorrow." She promised, stifling a yawn. "You can look tomorrow." She was tired, so tired and depleted and sore. She wanted to curl up in the void of the darkness outside and doze for eternity, forget everything and everyone. But no, Charlie wouldn't have that. That pompous fool would telling her to pull herself together, find a way to play his game.

"I need to sleep." Wearily she stood up from where she had sat herself at the engineers mapping table, immediately cringing at the sensation. David sprung to his feet as well, offering her his arm for support, every bit the perfect gentleman.

"Bed then, Elizabeth?" He asked, steering her towards the corridors.

She didn't fall asleep as easily as she thought she would have that night (if she could call it night), given her current state. She let her eyes glide down over David's still form as he lay silent alongside herself, chest rising and falling in timed rhythm. She wondered if David could tell when she fell asleep, if he could sense when her mind slipped away into a dream. She wondered a great many things about him. He looked peaceful, eyes closed in the dimly lit alcove. Eerily human and inhuman alike

She focused on him for quite a while, wondering and imagining, until she succumbed to slumber. But her dreams revealed further revelations.

In them David was as real as she, flesh and blood, and she willingly became his without guilt, his mouth that of an expert musician and she his finely tuned instrument. In her dreams she didn't feel remorse or sorrow over Charlie's death, and she didn't feel shame. It was bizarrely liberating.

"How is your abdomen today, Elizabeth?"

"Sore."

He had her lay on a cold slab of a table in an indistinguishable part of the ship, nude apart from her underwear and a piece of medical grade gauze across her midsection. It was the same place she had originally soldered him back together, fast becoming their medical bay.

David hovered somewhere above her in a professional stance, acting as her proxy doctor.

She should have been thankful he was so familiar with human medicine and practice, but couldn't push away the notion that his knowledge was installed as a means to better perform his previous task - to hurt, kill, destroy - all for his father. His loyalties lay solely with Peter Weyland, perhaps even in death.

"Peculiar." He had stated as he removed her bandage, head tilted to one side in concentration.

"What? What is it?"

"Your incision. It is healing remarkably fast. I wouldn't have expected it to look this well until at least...months from now."

She felt him prodding at her wound with all of his medical expertise, no doubt checking for signs of infection or further injury. In all honesty it didn't hurt as much as she let on. Not that she would let him know. Dancing around him like an injured little lamb was all she had going for her, trying to bide her time by playing up to his emotive processors. She hoped they were still intact. If he thought her injured, perhaps he wouldn't try and cause her any further harm.

"Thank God."

"Really?"

That was another reason she needed to keep her distance. Not because he was broken, but because he didn't believe in a god or creator. He had no dogma to adhere to, a worrying thought. His devotion was to science, and with no sense of right or wrong or moral obligation, it left him dangerous and unpredictable. It left her jumpy and hesitant. Was it ultimately not a question of _would he hurt her_ but _when_?

By day she tried to limit her interaction with him, which was comparatively easy considering he almost never left the navigational room. She would plot waypoints with him, make necessary small talk, and then venture out on her own before ultimately coming back to him when sleep drew her near.

But her dreams were fast becoming untamed hormone trips, their sole quest seemingly to please and satisfy her subconscious mind. Perhaps she was afraid of him, perhaps deep down she didn't care. She couldn't abandon her mistrust but it seemed her compulsion to belong with another being was overwhelming her instinct of doubt. She knew she should be wary, and she was. But at the same time her mind wondered persistently.

She often found dream David pressed flush against her, his artificially warm body smothering her own, strong hands holding her in place near painfully. The look in his eyes was desperation and desire, things she had never seen there before, and his voice was laced with an unmistakable hunger. It was so jarringly human to see him in such a way.

"Elizabeth" He had growled, a noise she had not yet heard him make. He rutted against her like a horny pubescent seeking release, uncontrolled and unrestrained.

"Dav-" she begun, but he cut her off with powerful kisses, lips crushing, suffocating. For a moment she was scared of his strength, the power behind his actions, afraid he wouldn't let her ever breath again. Perhaps that was how he would end it. But then he found her core, apparently well ready for him, and entered without hesitation.

"This one, Elizabeth." David had left her as he scouted ahead down one of the bleak corridors. They were exploring, looking for new equipment and rations to stockpile.

Elizabeth likened it to the exploring she used to do on Earth. The ancient caves both she and Charlie unearthed were not too dissimilar to the monstrous caverns built into the ship.

David beckoned her to a large sealed door, a panel of abacus like buttons and beautifully carved inscriptions engraved in the wall next to it. He studied the writing and Elizabeth wondered if he could read it.

"What is it?"

"If I'm right, it should be a means to clean ourselves." He was already fiddling with the buttons, nimble fingers working quickly. The door slid open with no trouble despite its size and David was right - of course. It was some sort of elaborate bathing facility, not too unlike a large bathroom.

There was a pool elegantly set into the floor in the middle of the room, deeply formed with large stairs downward and tiled with ornate designs. It was empty and profound, too deep to stand in if filled with water. But it was empty, and David was quick to work out a way to fill it.

He was again tampering with the ships engravings, this time on the floor near the empty recess, seemingly to some accord. After a brief pause, water began bubbling up from the bottom, the sound of its churning setting Elizabeth at ease - if only for a short moment. She longed for a bath, and missed the one she had back home. All the times she had taken it for granted, if only she had known.

"This ship is very adapt to the conditions of space travel, it would seem. It's performing a chemical reaction, generating its own water supply. Marvelous."

"Shouldn't we work out a way to conserve the water?"

"No need. It has ample means to create its own."

He left her there to bath in his absence, sensing she required privacy. She had become so quiet and withdrawn, quite unlike herself in the lack of other humans. Perhaps this was what happened to them when they were cut off from their kind, David wasn't sure, but it was interesting to observe. Again he wondered why he found interest in it at all - why he cared about what made Dr Shaw tick. But he was indeed terribly curious.

There was rustling, the movement of fabric amid static that broadcast aloud over his communicator. She had forgotten to remove her microphone from her suit, apparently. David bought his own to his mouth and was about to chide when he heard a soft sigh, promptly followed by another. They were subtle and delicate, faint echoes floating across the gurgled noise of the radio. He listened carefully, keen hearing tuned in to even the slightest ghosts of sound. A moan, or maybe a cry, followed by a name.

"Charlie.."

David let his shoulders fall for a second, an overly human characteristic he didn't execute often. She was crying over her dead lover. And of course she should. It was only a natural human thing to do, to mourn over those whom she had lost. Guilt wasn't a concept David fully understood, but he felt something akin to a pang of sorrow surge through his programming. It was brief, but tangible.

"C-charlie.."

David motioned to turn off his headset, disliking the peculiar sentiment.

"...David..."

Well, that was just absurd. David need not be cried over. He had killed in the name of science - in the name of creation. And although he wondered why he was able to even do it at all, he didn't disdain the notion that he should.

On the communicator Elizabeth's sighs were becoming rhythmic, more purposeful and sharp. Was she panting? Moaning?

"David...please..."

David pulled away very sharply, suddenly well aware of what he was listening to. Of all the possible outcomes that leaving her alone in that room could produce, this was one of the least likely he envisioned actually happening. She was pleasuring herself, despite her recent chaotic voyage, despite the deaths of those close to her that still stung like fresh wounds. She was performing one of the most archaic functions that her kind possibly could inact.

And she was thinking of him.

A small jolt of electric thrill shot through David's system, an interesting sensation. He was bizarrely pleased that he had made it into her pantheon of disembodied lovers, although like everything else he wasn't entirely sure why he should be. Something about the situation made him proud, arrogant even, that she should chose to cast him in her illicit reverie over anyone else - him, a robot.

Not a real boy.


	3. 3 : Interaction

A/N :

Just a short little chapter to let you know I'm still actually writing this story. Also it's a lemon. Just entirely a lemon. I'm sorry.

* * *

David often pondered upon the human act of coupling. He had never been voluntarily intimate nor had sex, of course, not that his programming was bound by such a futile limitation - more so that he had never come across a human willing to participate. His closest encounters were with his so called 'sister', who had used him as an expensive sex toy on more than one occasion.

Even as a juvenile, he had come to despise young Meredith Vickers, head thrown back as she held David's own against her pubescent wetness. He could do nothing but skillfully service her, afraid of the consequences if he didn't. This build model was made ultimately to serve, be it his father or otherwise. They would both be decompiled if Mr Weyland found out, although he doubted Meredith cared.

Elizabeth Shaw was a fascinating specimen, a complete 180 to the females David usually engaged with who, although being snobby elites of high society, where a little on the nose. She piqued David's curiosity for all the wrong reasons. Strong-minded, but often wrong. That was her, the description of a woman who let an astoundingly archaic belief rule her life, who put her trust in a god who had isolated her when she most needed assurance. It was pitiful, he thought, for such an independent creature to fall so far from her God's grace - one who's good will and kindness inspired David to see the possibility in other life forms.

And now she was coming apart, lost and confused, seeking a familiar partnership to take comfort in. But there was no others of her kind, no humans to _bunk up with_ , as it were. She was a lone soul in a cosmos of stars. It was becoming problematic.

"I couldn't sleep without you."

She interrupted him in the middle of crafting a new map in the navigational room. He considered her and her words for a moment. She leaned against a large arched door rather hauntingly in her blood stained bandaged underwear, heart rate up, breath quickening, pupils dilated to 6mm. She was staring at him as if he were the piece of meat in the room, not her.

"You are aroused." He diagnosed very matter of factually, turning back to the console. It was an expected turn, although the idea of Elizabeth's apparent arousal elicited a strange excitement. He supposed just like in every other matter, he was curious about it. What had caused it? Who? How would this Elizabeth react to his acerbic comments? He decided to bait her, goad her into contempt. He knew how to push her buttons.

"Are you in need of my company?"

He hadn't meant to instigate such an interesting interaction. He agitated her, something she had become accustomed to, but instead of playing off of his carefully spoken prompts like usual she instead took him up on his offer. She slid herself between him and his work, straddling his lap.  
"I don't feel like myself." She murmured, peering up at him with large red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. "Why do I feel different? David, what's happening? What have you done?"  
He studied her face, making no move to touch her. So she had been crying again, no doubt out of uncertainty. When he failed to respond, she ground her hips against him and fisted his t-shirt in her hands.

"Talk to me."  
"I don't know how to console you." He admitted so simply, placing his hands over hers in an effort to detach her. But it failed and she snaked her hands up around his neck where she held him closer.  
"You do." He watched her curiously, the way her eyes danced all over his face, no doubt searching him for any hint of emotional connection. The way she angled her head to align her mouth with his, soft lips pressed against his simulated ones. She was progressing in her desperation for attachment almost frighteningly.

With slight hesitation she let her hands release their hold around his neck and moved them downward, undoing the knot where David tied the arms of his suit around his waist. Her eyes stayed on his face, but his eyes followed her hands as they pulled the suit zipper lower, one hand slipping in to test him. Absent of a reaction, she fondled him rather coyly.

A troubling human aspect of his programming was stimulation, or rather the lack of it needed for his body to react in such a way that could be deemed inappropriate. It was a very rudimentary system, one which he supposed was to help him blend in with her kind a little more - random, chaotic, disturbing. But at the moment it was embarrassing, the ease of which Elizabeth's bashful eagerness could influence him. Regrettably his body was entirely ready to please.

She pulled the zipper lower and released him. And that was all she needed, really, for him to look and feel real, for her to forget that maybe he actually wasn't. She stroked him experimentally to see what he would do, and was pleased to find Weyland had at least given him some measure of enjoyment from his _counterfeit equipment._ It was an interesting buzzing sensation that went straight to the synthetic's head, pleasant and warm and at the same time addictive. It pushed every other thought to the back of his mind. Each time she stroked him, he became a little more lost, a little less focused on everything except for her hand.

But she desperately wanted her own form of release, believed she rightfully deserved it after her ordeal. She took a reserved lead, pulling her underwear discretely to one side and rubbing him against her center. It was cathartic in an outlandish way, the fact she could do this without him fighting back, and the fact he seemed to actually take pleasure her movements, his eyes intently watching her every move. The head of his swollen member slid a little too far, proving almost too much for both of them. She was back at his lips, mewing into his mouth and he slid large hands around her back pulling her closer. It happened again, this time coinciding with a powerful buck from David and he slipped in more. She began fervently meeting his thrusts, each time impaling herself a little more until he was buried fully inside, his hands a flurry of activity as he roamed her body.

Elizabeth picked up her own steady momentum, grinding into him like her life depended on it, head thrown back in desperation as she sought her release. David could do nothing but watch, drinking in what he deemed to be a rare yet enjoyable sight. He bucked when she grinded, interpreting all her cues and adapting to meet her increasingly sloppy demands. She grew more and more careless before crying out in what to David sounded more like pain then pleasure, her muscles fluttering and flexing rigidly against his own before finally subsiding.

He could have been mean, a monster in that moment. He could have chosen to leave her there alone to cry out her inevitable regret in seclusion, but he didn't.

He held her as tenderly as he could as she rested against him in her post-coitus stupor, the room silent apart from the buzzing of technology and her heavy breaths against his now tear-stained shirt.


End file.
